


like draws to like

by nighimpossible



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Hair-pulling, Mates, Neck Kissing, Oral Sex, Post-Canon Fix-It, Submission, acowar spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-12
Updated: 2017-05-12
Packaged: 2018-10-30 18:15:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10882281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nighimpossible/pseuds/nighimpossible
Summary: Wrestling with her desires, Nesta watches as instead of doing the brutish thing—shoving her against the wall and kissing her until she can’t see straight—Cassian tilts his head back and bears his neck for her perusal.Total submission. Nesta nearly chokes at the sight.





	like draws to like

**Author's Note:**

> Big big spoilers for the end of ACOWAR. This was basically written in a fever dream after I finished that bad boy. Also, this fic has references to the Nesta/Cassian short story found in the Target exclusive version of ACOMAF.

 

 

The strangeness of the in-between seems to be where Nesta lives these days: no longer a human, but Made into something not quite High Fae, Nesta makes space for herself where no one ought to be. And why not? No one else is going to make space _for_ her. The cage of not quite a beast, not quite a woman that she used to occupy so pleasantly with Amren now seems fit for just one monster with an ill-fitting mask. And that’s fine: she would not wish this feeling on any one of her friends. She is happy that Amren has shed this liminal identity. Truly, she is.

 

 _Little thief_ , the Cauldron hisses at her. _This power was never meant for you._

 

Her fingers tremble as energy thrums through her veins like lightning made flesh. She tightens her hands into fists, knuckles turned yellow in her exertion. Ever since sputtering out of the Cauldron, Nesta has found herself frustrated by this stolen gift. She had wanted it, demanded it, _vowed_ to herself that if the Cauldron was going to strip away her humanity, it would damn well give her something in return. But instead of coming easily to her, Nesta’s newfound strength is difficult: difficult to wield, difficult to control. _Like draws to like_ , Nesta thinks darkly. She has been told over the years how demanding and prickly she is, like some kind of wild cat ready to claw and bite its way out of any situation. Nesta presses her nails against the flesh of her palm and pretends that they are her own talons.

 

Cassian finds her like that, with her hands balled into fists. He looks her up and down before saying in his casual lilt, “You’re tense for someone who just won us a war.”

 

Nesta purses her lips, summons the last ounce of steel in her spine, and rolls her eyes at the Illyrian. “I’m told war makes people tense.” Even now, after everything they’ve been through, she cannot be soft with him. Perhaps she was never meant to be a pliant, delicate thing.

 

“Maybe less so when it’s over,” Cassian suggests. He takes a step towards the fireplace and starts fiddling with a ceremonial tea set on the mantle.

 

 _It’s never over_ , the Cauldron whispers in her ear. _War is like the tide_. _It will return_.

 

 _Shut up_ , Nesta growls back, letting the beast beneath her skin flex its power in reply. The Cauldron recoils and quiets, and Nesta considers it a moment of triumph.

 

Nesta allows herself a small pause to assess Cassian. His wounds have healed over for the most part. She thinks she can spy a few new scars along his leathery wings, but to guess at which scab came first would be a fool’s errand. Cassian has always had more battle scars than Nesta could count.

 

It’s been a few days now since Cassian was shuffled off to the healers after the war against Hybern had come to a close, after Nesta and Elain had come together and cleaved the King’s smirking head off with Azriel’s deadly blade, Truth-Teller. Nesta can close her eyes now and still see a ruined Cassian, bloody and broken beneath her, telling her to run.

 

Perhaps he has always thought her a coward, that she could up and leave a battle with her friends and family at risk. The _fool._ Though she is not the bold, reckless star that is her sister, Feyre, Nesta has her own bravery. It's quieter. You have to listen for it.

 

Nesta brings her fingers to her lips and ghosts them across her mouth in memory of a kiss too brief. Even in its sweet quickness, Nesta has found herself lingering on the strong press of Cassian’s lips more often than she’d like to admit. All that sweet nonsense about how he wished he had more time? Well, he bloody has time now. And where has it has gotten them?

 

Nowhere. She’s barely seen Cassian since the fighting stopped. For the past few days, they’ve stood at a crossroads between strangers and lovers. Is he afraid that now, at last, she will finally run?

 

She did not run in the face of death. She is certainly not going to run in the face of any Illyrian male, let alone _this_ one.

 

“You look to be in one piece,” Nesta tries, and Cassian looks over his shoulder at her.

 

“Back in fighting form,” Cassian grins at her.

 

Nesta knows this is a lie. “Try again,” she demands.

 

Cassian’s facade of _all-good_ breaks a little. “Cauldron save me, woman. I’ll get there. Healing takes time.”

 

Nesta nods at the truth. “But you _will_ heal,” she digs.

 

Cassian puts the tea set down and turns to face her head on. Nesta drinks him in: his long black hair is tied in a loose bun, the scar on his upper lip twisting as he smirks at her. His jaw is covered in stubble that he hasn’t bothered to shave away. _Lazy ass_ , Nesta thinks to herself. “Your concern is noted.” His voice is a growl Nesta is ashamed to admit that she likes. It echoes the wildness inside her heart.

 

Nesta flushes. “I’m not _concerned_.” Cassian raises his eyebrows at her, and she has to turn away. She can’t ignore, however, how he approaches her from behind. Cassian’s strides toward her are like those of a lion stalking its quarry. The trick is this: Nesta is not, and has never been, prey.

 

“Not worried?” Cassian breathes, entering her space. She can feel his breath on the back of her neck, and she tilts her head dangerously, allowing him access to more skin than she ought. “I thought we were beyond this.”

 

She feels him behind her, his body a mirrored shadow of her own, but taller, broader, radiating heat that she leans into _just_ enough to make Cassian’s breath catch in his throat.

 

“Where have you _been?_ ” Nesta finally allows herself. A hint of the desperation she’s felt since Cassian left her presence: perhaps that would be enough to make him understand. “After the battle, I didn’t think you would—I didn’t _want_ to be—”

 

She can’t say it. Her pride won’t let her say it.

 

He seems to understand, regardless.

 

Cassian touches her at the waist, the pads of his fingers tracing the line of skin exposed by her Night Court attire. She allows it. “I was unconscious for the first day, when they were stitching me back together with whatever scraps of magic the healers had left. When I woke up, I was barely in one piece. I—” And he pauses, his voice catching in his throat on some kind of emotion Nesta can’t quite place. “I didn’t want you to see me like that.”

 

Nesta twirls on her heel, fury in her heart. “See you like what? _Alive?_ ”

 

“Barely.” Cassian's face is a mix of shame and guilt. Nesta squeezes her eyes shut to keep the tears of frustration from dripping down her cheeks.

 

“I don’t give a _shit_ about that,” Nesta growls at him, and she suddenly has her hands in the front of his shirt, drawing him closer. Did he really think he was the predator here? “Screw your ego. I needed you _here_.”

 

For the power she had stolen from the Cauldron now runs rampant under her skin. Ever since she had let it loose on the battlefield, it has become harder and harder to suppress. It’s a bit like now that she had a feel for it, she had to release it regularly—or it will drive her insane. Nesta has heard Rhys talk about this feeling before, just a little: how his power is so all-consuming that he has to use it every day just so it won’t drive him up the wall.

 

Cassian balks at her words and his hands find her wrists. He does not pull himself from her grasp, just makes slow, deliberate circles on the back of her hands. “And now?” he dares to ask.

 

The power inside her thrums in anticipation, and Nesta struggles to lock it in place. _Beautiful bandit,_ the Cauldron hisses at her smugly. _How long before you unleash this inferno upon him?_ Cassian looks at her warily, like he can see the barely-contained fire inside her heart manifested in her blazing stare.

 

“I’m trying to stay in control,” Nesta tells him through gritted teeth.

 

“I’ve never seen anything master you,” Cassian tells her plainly. “Don’t let this be the first.”

 

Nesta whimpers as the power hurtles through her, begging to break free. “It’s hard,” she whimpers out. It’s the first time she’s admitted that to anyone besides Amren, and Amren had laughed her out of training for the very same confession.

 

“I know,” is all Cassian replies, his tone one of utter sincerity. “I know it is. And you’re doing so well.”

 

“Stop being nice,” Nesta says, a sob choking her words. She doesn’t deserve this kindness, not when she could hurt so many people with her power. Her hands are shaking once more, energy radiating through her, so close to release. He might very well be standing in the line of fire, but she cannot let him go.

 

“People call me a lot of things,” Cassian begins. “Brainless. Ass. I think you called me that _today_ , in fact.” Nesta can’t help a small laugh, and Cassian perks up at the sound before his eyes soften at the edges. “But not nice. Never _nice_.” Nesta watches as his pupils dilate slightly, the darkness widening before her. “I'm not kind. I'm not _being_ kind." He pauses before adding, "Az and I are different, I guess. I don’t need a blade to speak the truth for me.”

 

“What if I hurt you?” Nesta asks quietly.

 

“Illyrians are built for pain,” Cassian shrugs.

 

Nesta takes a deep breath and tries again. “What if I don’t _want_ to hurt you?”

 

“Ah,” Cassian says after a moment of quiet. “That’s the trick, isn’t it.” He pauses before finally asking, “Do you trust me?”

 

 

* * *

 

 

He takes her to the roof with a few flaps of his broad wings. Velaris stretches out before them as he settles her on her own two feet. It's beautiful, more beautiful than she can put into words. Starlight speckles the sky above, and below, Nesta can see people walking around in the city, the paths lit by streetlights and the glow of the stars above.

 

“You can’t hurt anyone up here,” Cassian says softly.

 

“ _You’re_ up here,” Nesta points out.

 

“Yes, but I’m wiley,” Cassian winks at her.

 

Nesta stretches her hands out in front of her. They shudder with the desire for release. “It’s your funeral,” she mutters before closing her eyes. _Let go_ , she tells herself softly. _It’s safe here. Let it all go_.

 

The power crackles beneath her skin. She strains for a moment and then huffs out an exasperated breath. “It won’t leave me,” Nesta explains. “I don’t know what’s wrong, but I can’t let it out. It won’t leave me _be_ , Cassian.”

 

He’s behind her in an instant, and he follows her down as she sinks to her knees. “Let me help you,” Cassian intones. “We’ll force it out together.” He laces his fingers with her own as Nesta leans back against his chest, arms raised out towards the empty night sky.

 

 _You cannot wield it, Little Thief,_ the Cauldron mocks her. _You can barely control it._

 

 _Watch me,_ Nesta thinks back bitterly.

 

Power crackles in her chest, and she guides it towards her fingertips. Her hands shake, but Cassian holds her arms up, steady as iron beneath her. “I’ve got you,” he tells her, a calm to his voice that Nesta yearns for. She just needs a push.

 

“ _Cassian_ ,” Nesta whimpers, and lightning crackles between her fingertips.

 

He tucks his head against her neck, pressing his lips to the skin behind her ear, and Nesta _explodes_.

 

A waterfall of sparks and lightning showers down from Nesta’s outstretched hands, like a cascade of shooting stars. The heavenly fireworks are bright white and hard to look at straight on, but Nesta lets the sight burn into her gaze. She is trying to memorize how this feels, how she can conquer this beast beneath her skin in the future without so much...assistance.

 

The well of power inside her chest now empty, Nesta scoots away from Cassian, who lets her hands go easily.

 

“That was,” he starts, and Nesta waves him off.

 

“Scary, I know,” Nesta grumbles. The idea that she can’t control her powers, it _should_ frighten him. She’s not safe—

 

“Beautiful,” Cassian corrects. “It was bloody beautiful, Nes.” The nickname traces over her skin like a caress.

 

Nesta is quiet for a moment. “Do you feel safe around me?” is the question she finally asks, the question she has been dying to ask since she stole these horrible, earthshaking powers.

 

Cassian does not reply, simply gathers her hands and lays them on his heart. The same hands that had just exploded with violent, dangerous magic now rest upon Cassian’s chest. Nesta gulps down a sob. It is answer enough.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Cassian’s wings are still recovering, so he glides them both down to the streets of Velaris with barely a flap. “They’ll get better,” is all he’ll say when Nesta gives him a pitying look. They both know this is the second time Cassian's wings were ruined in battle. Who knows how much more abuse they can take?

 

Neither of them admit that they are approaching Cassian’s apartment. Maybe Cassian thinks that if he voices the dark thought aloud, Nesta will bolt, like some kind of frightened animal. Maybe he thinks she’s not in her right mind, and if he spooks her, she’ll realize her mistake in taking him to bed.

 

But Nesta has not felt this clear headed since she was thrust into the Cauldron itself. The stolen power that crackled under her skin has gone dormant ever since she had released an ostensible inferno above the House of Wind into the night sky.

 

Cassian stops before Nesta can put two and two together and says in a quiet voice, “This is me.”

 

The apartment, in comparison to Amren’s sparse abode, is full of trinkets. Amren hoards things, yes, but Cassian—Cassian shows them off. He must be some kind of collector: he has what must be the spoils of war on every surface. “Reminders,” Cassian explains as Nesta finds herself drawn to a golden mask with a crack down the middle.

 

“Of how bravely you fought?” Nesta asks sarcastically.

 

“ _Obviously_ ,” Cassian simpers back in easy repartee, and Nesta’s stomach tightens. This back and forth is part of why she’s here: in spite of how much he infuriates her, she _likes_ the push-back. His face shifts, however, before he adds, “Reminders of the cost.”

 

Nesta closes her eyes and sees her father's grave. She knows about cost.

 

“How long has that been going on?” Cassian finally asks her, and Nesta’s eyes blink open. Cassian wiggles his broad fingers at her and Nesta can’t help but think of something obscene. She huffs and shrugs.

 

“It’s gotten worse over the last few weeks. But the final battle...it unlocked something inside me,” Nesta tries, looking down at her chest. “I don’t know if I can contain it anymore.”

 

Cassian considers her. “There are two ways this story goes.” Nesta’s eyes dart up to meet his. “Either you learn to control it,” and he takes a step forward, “or you don’t.” Another step toward her. “But sweetheart,” he continues, and now he’s close enough that she can _smell_ him, “ _screw_ worrying about that right now.” He gives her a look of pure exasperation. “We just won the damn _war_ , Nesta. And that doesn’t solve all our problems, not by a long-shot. But take a _fucking_ moment, 'cause you might not get another.”

 

It’s a clear dare, and Nesta knows it. She should step back, find her coldness towards him once more. Nesta searches for the iron will that has kept her from succumbing to Cassian for so many months and finds herself coming up empty. It seems she has lost the strength to fight him on this anymore. Maybe that’s not a good enough reason to give in, but at this point, Nesta doesn’t care.

 

Wrestling with her desires, Nesta watches as instead of doing the brutish thing—shoving her against the wall and kissing her until she can’t see straight—Cassian tilts his head back and bears his neck for her perusal.

 

Total submission. Nesta nearly chokes at the sight.

 

She remembers a mirrored moment from so many moons ago, when she had exposed her own neck for Cassian to gaze upon. She had barely known the Illyrian at the time—by the Cauldron, she’d still been _human_. He had cornered her in her own home, fascinated by a woman who had shown him no fear. It had been Nesta’s best act: she’d been such a fragile, little thing, pretending to be hard as stone. And she had still offered him her neck. _Stupid girl_ , Nesta had chastised herself after the encounter had gone sour. _You should know better than to offer your throat to a wolf._

 

She watches Cassian’s pulse thrum just below the edge of his jaw, the pattern erratic and nervous in ways that Nesta did not expect of him, a general who had seen far more frightening sights on the battlefield than the female standing before him.

 

He doesn’t egg her on anymore, but he does swallow, his neck bobbing slightly.

 

Nesta leans forward and grazes her nose against him, her breath stuttering out in a staccato rhythm. She’s always _liked_ how Cassian smells, but here she can take in the total essence of him: masculine and heady, it intoxicates her. She braces herself on his chest with both her hands, and she feels as Cassian’s palm fits itself onto the small of her back, broad and warm.

 

Nesta presses her lips against him, feeling the coarse hair of his scruff drag against her mouth. He is purposefully still as she makes her way up his neck, pressing small, feather-light kisses where she goes. As she grazes over his pulse point, Cassian groans but does not move. Nesta cannot imagine the self-control he’s exerting to keep still.

 

She leans further into his space, pressing her chest against his and leaning onto her tiptoes to reach his mouth with her own. The kiss is soft, simple, and close-mouthed. He kisses her back, gently, pressing slightly against her spine and bringing her infinitesimally closer.

 

“Okay,” she says breathlessly, breaking the kiss at last. “That's one moment.”

 

Cassian huffs out a laugh. “You about done?” Nesta nods and feels Cassian’s pointed smirk against her mouth. Cassian is a wolf in wolf’s clothing: he does not disguise how dangerous he is. But in spite of everything she knows, Nesta cannot make herself afraid. Perhaps it’s a personal defect. “ _My turn_.”

 

He has her against the wall in an instant. _This_ is the brutish beast she expected, Nesta smirks to herself as Cassian brings his lips down on hers, rough against her mouth with want. She whines and wraps her legs around his waist, trying to gain some kind of leverage, some kind of upper hand. Nesta almost laughs at the thought. She should have known that any kind of intimacy with Cassian would be like waging war. Cassian growls, cupping beneath her and heaving her upwards. She drags one hand through his hair, pulling the bun back with a yank. Cassian groans unexpectedly as he jerks back and Nesta cocks her head at him curiously.

 

"You like that," Nesta grins in realization, her fingers tangled in his dark hair now. "Don't you?" It's not a question but an accusation.

 

"Just do it again," is all Cassian snarls. Nesta nods, her eyes wide, and she pulls at his hair again. Cassian moans a little and Nesta has to shudder. She brings his head to her collarbone and he works his way down her sternum, dragging nose along the curves of her breasts as they rise up to meet him. It's unfair how she melts under his touch, but in her quick survey of the flush on Cassian's cheeks and the hard length in Cassian's pants, Nesta is certain the feeling is mutual. 

 

"Bed?" she asks, panting hard. Cassian's bedroom must be close by, and Nesta admits that she's curious to see Cassian's inner sanctum.

 

"Soon," Cassian nods before setting her on her feet. Nesta frowns at being parted from him, but when Cassian drops to his knees, Nesta nearly hisses at the sight.

 

He is staring up at her like she hangs the moon. "You have such an idiot look on your face," Nesta croons, taking his head into her hand. Cassian brushes his nose against her thigh and Nesta's hips buck of their own volition.

 

"That's me," Cassian huffs, tugging her pants and underwear toward the ground. " _Big_ idiot." He places his forearm across the lowest part of her stomach to stabilize her.

 

Nesta lazily threads her fingers in Cassian's hair, now lose from its tie. "Don't let me fall," she whispers with a small tug for punctuation.

 

"Never," he promises seriously.

 

He opens Nesta's legs up, crooking her right thigh over his shoulder, and mutters to her in a quiet voice, "I've thought about this for a long time." He leans in and she can feel his breath at her core. She shivers against him. "Too long."

 

The pressure of his tongue against her alone makes Nestra cry out. Cassian laughs against her and murmurs, "You're lucky my neighbors already think rather poorly of me," before continuing on. Nesta is careful at first, with her fingers locked easily in his hair, but as the pressure at her core begins to build, she cannot help but drag his mouth closer to her dripping slit, directing him towards her apex.

 

"You with a bad reputation?" Nesta gasps, trying to maintain some sense of decorum. "Perish the thou—" Her words are interrupted as an exploratory finger delves inside her.

 

Cassian looks up at her innocently, finger now crooked in a slow, easy rhythm. His face is drenched with her slick from the nose down. "You were saying?"

 

" _Ass_ ," Nesta gasps. The _cheek_ of this male. Cassian adds another finger and she whimpers, hips jerking wildly as his tongue laps at her apex. Cassian licks her up like she is dripping the finest honey. The pleasure he brings her is from one beast to another: they are wild and raucous in their lovemaking, and Nesta has given up any sense of control. She tilts her head back against the wall, closes her eyes, and lets out a series of filthy whimpers, each louder than the next. Somewhere in her groans and shuddering, there is the sound of Cassian's name on her lips.  _He's probably smug as hell about that_ , Nesta thinks briefly before falling into pleasure once more.

 

"That's it," Cassian murmurs against her. "That's it, Nes."

 

Nesta whimpers as her iron will buckles, her orgasm finally shattering through her like a lightning strike. She clenches around the fingers inside her with a whine, and Cassian chokes out an, "Easy there, easy," as Nesta rides the lightning all the way back down to earth. She is breathing hard when she opens her eyes and finally looks down at the Illyrian kneeling before her.

 

"Bed?" Cassian asks, repeating her question from before in a voice husky and dark as wine. Nesta sinks into his lap, panting, with beads of sweat dripping down her brow that Cassian wipes away with his thumb.

 

She catches her breath before allowing herself a smirk.

 

"Soon," she echoes in a growl, before pressing him backwards to the floor. She's not sorry for how she rips the buttons off of Cassian's pants, not at all apologetic for the tearing sound his shirt makes under her machinations.

 

" _Easy_ ," Cassian says pointedly. Nesta doesn't acknowledge him, simply gestures for him to lift his hips up so she can unclothe him properly. He rolls his eyes but obeys, and Nesta helps him shimmy out of his pants, leaving his member hard and exposed against his chiseled stomach. Nesta's mouth drops open a little, and when she hears Cassian's small chuckle, she knows she could not bear looking him in the eye right now. "Impressed?" he asks lazily, sitting up on his elbows.

 

"Hardly," Nesta lies, and Cassian bristles. "Bit of a let down, really. We'll have to make do."

 

Cassian barks out a laugh. "You're playing with fire, girl."

 

Nesta straddles his hips. "I've already drowned," she says quietly, flashing back to the Cauldron and how she had been so cruelly Made, turned into some kind of grotesque monster. "Maybe I want to burn."

 

Cassian frowns at her before sitting up and gathering her in his arms. Nesta stutters out a hard breath as he rubs his hands up and down her naked back. "If you burn, I burn," he intones gravely.

 

"Don't be an idiot. You'll find someone else," Nesta tries to play off. "Someone less cruel."

 

"No," Cassian says simply. "I won't."

 

Nesta frowns. "Why?"

 

Cassian growls. "You know why."

 

 _Like draws to like, Little Thief_ , the Cauldron whispers.

 

Nesta's eyes widen. She looks between them and reaches for his length. It twitches as she guides it with her palm to her hot, seeping core. "Nesta," Cassian groans as she slots his member inside her slowly, sinking down further and further as far as she can manage. "Nesta, by the  _Cauldron—_ "

 

The world goes sideways. It's like someone has tied a rope around her heart and tugged it, like she's been swimming at sea for  _months_ —no,  _years_ —and she's finally made her first steps on dry land. It's a final puzzle piece being snapped into place when you thought the puzzle had been finished long ago. "Cassian," Nesta breathes, sinking deeper onto him. " _Cassian_ ," she groans again, hissing at the sensation, drawn into a moment that seems to last for a lifetime.

 

"Ride it out," Cassian grits out tightly, his hips moving against hers in sweet, blissful tandem. She whimpers and nods, her upper body falling against his chest and letting their bodies take control. Nesta turns her head into the crook of his neck as he wraps his arms around her and simply  _moves_. Nesta moans as Cassian dips a hand to paw against her apex and soon enough, she is close to coming again. She's never had this kind of insatiable rawness in her lovemaking, but here and now, Nesta wants _more_. She cries out feebly in climax, and only once she's sated again does Cassian lose it at last. His hips stuttering, Cassian lets out a shout, his wings unfurling beneath him in an orgasmic shudder than shakes the apartment around them. The trinkets Cassian collects wobble on their purchases.

 

They breathe together in the aftermath, limbs tangled and sweat-stuck together.

 

Nesta slides off and feels the soft carpet beneath her back. "Did you know?" she asks gravely.

 

Cassian is quiet for a long moment before admitting, "I had a feeling." He lets out a quiet laugh. "But Cauldron save me, I can't count the number of feelings I've had towards you, Nesta." He leans up on his elbows. "It's not a done deal. Yes, the mating bond is there. Yes, I think you're just about the best thing to ever fucking happen to a bastard thing like me." He cups her cheek with his hand. "But that doesn't mean you don't have to accept it."

 

"I'm the best thing to ever happen to you?" Nesta asks quietly.

 

"Don't be too impressed. I'm easily amused," Cassian jokes quietly. He presses his lips to her brow and his tone becomes more serious. "Woman, don't you know I love you?"

 

Warmth and a gentle, pleasant ache of affection pulses through her lazily. "I wanted nothing to do with this place after what happened," Nesta starts. Cassian doesn't interrupt, even when she pauses to gather her thoughts. "I was made into something I did not recognize. Not at first." She starts to smile. "And then you were treating me the same as before. As when I was human. The same arrogant braggart with the same lazy taunts. You were a constant. And because of you, I began to remember who I was." She pauses. "Who I am."

 

"I know it's hard to believe, but you belong here," Cassian smiles. The unsaid _with me_ can be read in his eyes. "As you are. As whatever you want to be."

 

Nesta turns her head and kisses Cassian's palm. It's stupid, and simple, but what she wants to be is his. "What if I want to accept it? If I wanted to become...mated."

 

Cassian's expression is radiant in reply. "You see the apple on the table over there?" he says with a grin. Nesta nods. "Toss it over to me."

 

"Lazy," Nesta cackles, hopping onto her feet.They are beautifully, blissfully naked as Cassian trails her to the kitchen island where the fruit lays ripe and ready for eating. Nesta picks up the blood red apple and hands it over to Cassian, who begins dutifully eating it to the core. Nesta cannot help but watch the juice occasionally run past his lips and down his chin. "What a beast," she chides, wiping the juice away.

 

"Sounds about right," Cassian hums, finishing the last bit of the apple and tossing the core into the sink. Nesta falls back into his arms as Cassian kisses her once more, joy radiating through the two of them like sun finally breaking through the clouds after a rainstorm. _We have both suffered enough_ , Nesta thinks. Let this solace be her sweet reprieve.

 

The Cauldron is silent in her head, and that is validation enough.


End file.
